


shaky hands

by rainbowshoes



Series: whumptober 2019 [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Insecurity, M/M, Minor Injuries, Nightmares, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), irrational fear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-12 23:48:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21234614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowshoes/pseuds/rainbowshoes
Summary: written for whumptober 2019prompt 1 - shaky hands





	shaky hands

**Author's Note:**

> written for whumptober 2019  
prompt 1 - shaky hands

Tony stumbled his way into the kitchen, the aftershocks of his nightmare still lingering in his bones. It had been of Siberia, again. FRIDAY was kind enough to gradually increase the lights for him so he didn't blind himself by smacking them all on at once, even if he sort of wanted to. But the yellow artificial light wasn't the same as the cold blue twilight from that day. He didn't ask her to turn on the heat, though. It was late August, and while he was shivering and felt like he'd been dunked in an ice bath, he knew it wasn't because it was genuinely cold. All psychosomatic. So he'd bundled himself in a robe, instead, and figured it would be enough. 

He loaded up the fresh coffee grounds Shrui had given him on his last trip to Wakanda and poured water into the back of the pot, then sat with his back propped against the counter as he waited for his coffee to brew. He knew he wouldn't get more sleep tonight, so why bother trying? He grabbed a spare tablet from the counter, one of the few he left lying around for anyone to use when they dropped by, and began poking around on the internet. 

Nothing could hold his interest. There wasn't anything of particular import in the news circulars FRIDAY kept updated for him. His email backlog was too daunting to attempt to parse through at this time of night - was it really only 3 in the morning? - and he didn't feel like opening up one of the projects he'd stalled out on lately. 

He  _ wanted  _ a drink. He wasn't going to have one, though. Even if this was the hardest time for him to resist the temptation, he would. Too many people had asked him to, and he had too many promises to keep. Everything else might feel like it was crumbling around him, but he would keep that tiny piece of control if it killed him. 

The coffee maker finished gurgling a moment later, and he discarded the tablet. He'd moved this coffee maker up from his workshop when he'd been told to cut back on the amount of caffeine he ingested each day. It sucked, but he loved this machine too much to let it gather dust. He and Clint and Barnes might have been the only ones who could stand to drink anything that came from it, but it was still one of his favorite pieces of tech. 

He finished pouring his coffee in a solid black mug with a tiny red hourglass printed on the bottom of the inside. The only mugs the compound had were all Avengers merch. It had been some stupid PR idea to make them seem like they were more unified than they really were. Tony still refused to touch any of the Captain America mugs, though. Couldn't bring himself to do it, even if it was only a stupid mug. 

He rubbed absently at his chest, a grimace on his face. There were no traces of a scar or anything else where the shield had slammed through the armor and bitten into his breastbone, but that wasn't because Rogers had tried to mitigate the damage at all. No. Helen had repaired the damage with her cradle. No scars, no plates, no screws. Made it look as if nothing had happened. He almost resented it. 

"You okay, Stark?" 

Tony yelped. He hadn't heard anyone come into the kitchen. Hadn't known there'd been anyone watching him. (He was always careful never to draw attention to his chest, anymore. Didn't want anyone else targeting his weak spot, after all.) His hands, already shaky and unstable after the hell that had been his nightmare, dropped the mug of coffee. His reflexes didn't even kick in to get him away from the mess as porcelain shattered against tile and scalding hot coffee splattered against his legs and feet. He hissed and took several steps back, then cursed softly when he felt a shard of the mug sink into his heel. Just his luck, he supposed. 

"Shit. Shit, I'm sorry. Didn't mean to scare you." Barnes came around the counter fast - too fucking fast - and Tony instinctively flinched away from him, stepping in the puddle of coffee. He didn't quite slip and fall, but it was a near thing, and his heart was already double-timing it in a rapid staccato in his chest. Barnes could probably fucking hear it. 

"Just - just don't move," Barnes said quietly, a look of intense remorse on his face. He didn't apologize again, though, and Tony supposed he was grateful for that. Tony watched him warily as Barnes walked purposefully - but slowly - to the broom and began sweeping a path clear for Tony to walk away from the mess. "There," Barnes said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Go on. Get your foot looked at. I'll get this cleaned up."

Tony didn't have it in him to argue. He stepped out of the puddle of lukewarm coffee and made it to the counter, putting it between himself and Barnes, before stopping and bracing his weight against it. He was shaking all over now, not just in his hands. The right was was still fucked up after Wanda dropped all those cars on him and after Siberia. Helen hadn't been able to fix the nerve damage. 

"Tony?" a sleepy voice asked. He turned his head and found Clint wandering over from the elevator. "What happened?" He yawned, his jaw cracking from the force of it, and something in Tony relaxed just slightly. Sure, Clint was human too, but he was a much better match for Barnes than Tony himself any day. And Barnes and Clint were friends, so Tony doubted Barnes would do anything anyway. 

(Not that Tony rationally thought Barnes would try and hurt him. If he did, Barnes never would have been allowed to come and stay at the compound. But it was three in the morning and Tony had had a nightmare about Siberia, and he couldn't get rid of the image of Barnes trying to dig the reactor out of his armor.) 

"Couldn't sleep," Tony murmured as Clint reached him and wrapped him in his arms. Tony relaxed against him, and the shaking subsided down to only his hands, then even that died down to a much less often tremor. 

"Nightmares again?" Clint asked quietly. Tony nodded his head against Clint's shoulder. "You need a hand, Barnes?" 

"Nah," Barnes said easily. "But Stark stepped on a piece of the cup and cut up his foot. You might want to take a look at it." 

_Traitor_, Tony thought mildly. Clint let go of Tony and sank to his knees in front of him. Tony shoved himself backward to sit on the stool at his back. Clint delicately lifted Tony's foot and hissed in sympathy at the sight. They both knew they'd both had worse, but it was still nice, Tony supposed. 

"Sit tight," Clint said. "I'll clean it up." He wandered barefoot into the kitchen and grabbed the first aid kit they kept, fully stocked, tucked under the sink. He grabbed a washcloth and soaked it in warm water, as well, then returned to kneel at Tony's feet. It wasn't any sort of power trip Tony felt at the sight, only a deep, unending well of gratitude. 

Clint was quick with his foot, cleaning away the coffee and blood, digging out the shard of porcelain, and wrapping it up with some gauze. "Come on, let's go lay down. Even if you can't sleep." Tony didn't argue. It would be nice, at least, to have Clint hold him. 

Barnes bid them a soft goodnight as they wandered away, and Tony surprised himself by responding in kind. Then they were in the elevator. Clint kept one arm wrapped around Tony as he yawned into his hair. They stumbled their way to Tony's bedroom and collapsed into Tony's bed. Clint wrapped himself around Tony like a koala, and Tony returned the favor. 

"You don't have nightmares as much when I sleep with you," Clint said, his voice thick and heavy with sleep. "Think I'll just start sleeping here all the time. If that's cool with you."

Tony breathed a soft sigh of relief. Clint was right, but he hadn't wanted to ask Clint to change things for fear Clint would say yes even though he didn't want to. 

"Yeah," Tony whispered. "I'd like that."

Surprisingly, Tony found himself drifting off to sleep right after Clint. 


End file.
